Terror in Donan Woods
by Cha's Aegis
Summary: A fic in honor of Halloween. A fun excursion turns into something terrifying for Richie, Duncan and Methos.


Author's note: Wish I owned them, but I don't. Not making any benjamins off of this. All criticisms welcome, but if you flame, I guarantee I'll burn you back. For entertainment only.

The intense pounding footsteps and frantic breathing were the only sounds that seemed to break the eerie silence. It was the only sound to fill the ears of the lone figure wnding its desperate way through the never-ending expanse of trees. They would've continued their frantic flight to freedom if they had avoided the root jutting up from the ground in the darkness.

With an astonished cry as he fell, Richie suddenly found himself lying facedown and staring at the ground. Pulling his legs close to himself as he shifted into a sitting position, he leaned his back against the offending tree and tried to catch his breath quietly and to get his bearings. He peered into the swirling mist that clung to everything and which seemed to reach out and pull him into its haunting depths. He hoped to see some sign of life, any life, and yet, he hoped he didn't.

Richie's emotions waged a fierce war within as he fought hard to control his spiraling panic and despair. Looking up in prayer at the moon, his breath suddenly caught in his chest. As bright, and full as the moon was, there was a black hole surrounding it. Not one twinkling star or blazing planet joined the moon in companionship in the expansive night sky. Squeezing his eyes shut tight and tearing them away from the sinister looking orb; he dropped his head onto his knees.

A myriad of thoughts flooded Richie's mind. It had started so harmlessly, hadn't it? It seemed like a great way to spend the week leading up to Halloween. All he wanted was to do his own, real-life version of The Blair Witch Project. The subject instead would be the legendary witch of Donan Woods. At first Mac thought the whole idea was ridiculous. He reminded Richie that the Donan Witch was another immortal, Cassandra. Richie remembered countering with, 'Yeah, but no one else knows that!"

Lifting his head to peer around into the gloom again, Richie remembered how the prospect of returning home to Scotland for a visit had convinced Mac to play along with his whim. He had also realized that Richie could only benefit from such a project. He would improve his research skills and, much to Richie's chagrin, it presented Mac with a great opportunity to refresh his student's outdoor survival skills. _'If Mac hadn't insisted on whole wild man of the woods routine,'_ he thought fiercely as he pounded fist into his thigh, _'I would at least have a damn compass and map to get me the hell out of here.'_ Just as quickly, his anger fled and Richie hung his head in shame. It wasn't his fault that all sorts of weird, freaky stuff started happening since they first set foot in the woods. It wasn't his fault that he and Methos were missing. It wasn't hisfault that he was now alone. And unarmed.

Mac had believed this whole thing would end up being a great learning experience for Richie. _'Yeah,'_ Richie thought, _'it ended up being a great learning experience alright, a great way to learn how to run for your life!'_

For some reason, Methos had invited himself along. He thought it would be fun to watch Duncan turn Richie's "awesome" project into a torturous learning experience. was cthat Methos pulling all the weird pranks at their campground, like strewing their clothes all over the campsite. He was convinced when Methos suddenly disappeared and the pranks got wilder, like the sudden appearance of weird stick figures around their campsite. Leave it to Methos to screw with other people's mind. Especially his. As it was, he kept telling Richie all sorts of wild tales about the witch to try to scare him. He was fairly successful. Okay, he was very successful. That's why Richie believed that he was just out there, lurking in the woods like the nutcase he was. Mac was worried about Methos, but he blew it off. Mac was always worried about something.

Richie didn't start worrying until Methos failed to return after a couple of days and the pranks became more sinister. Especially when his and Mac's swords disappeared from camp while they slept. He knew that Methos would never pull such a stunt. Not even as a joke. He would never jeopardize their lives that way. The situation became terrifying the day Mac disappeared.

"Richie!" Snapping his head up in an instant, Richie looked around wildly. He wasn't sure if he was imagining it, but it sounded like Mac's voice. "Richie!" Scrambling awkwardly to his feet, Richie continued leaning against the tree, seeking comfort and reassurance from its sturdiness. A light thud hit the ground near his feet. Looking down, he couldn't see what it was. Was it a rock?

A maelstrom of stones assaulted him from all directions. Shielding his face as well as he could, Richie staggered away seeking refuge from the stinging projectiles. A large stone found its mark, stunning him momentarily and opening a large gash on his forehead. Escape was made more difficult as the veil of blood coating his eyes obscured his vision. Just as quickly the attack ceased.

Wiping the blood from his eyes, he looked around cautiously for his attackers, finding himself just as alone as ever. "Richie!" Spinning around wildly on the spot, Richie tried to pinpoint the direction of the panicked call, certain that it was Mac. "Richie!" Ignoring the aches of his bruised and bloodied body, Richie set off at a dead run in the direction of the haunting cry.

Feeling as if his lungs would burst, Richie finally slowed down to a brisk walk. Employing breathing techniques Mac had taught him, waiting for the call to try to determine its origin. "Damn it!" He cried out to the darkness. Steadying himself, he examined the solid object he nearly fell over. It was a low, circular wall, about waist high. It surrounded a dark, gaping opening to what he guessed was a well. Walking around it in examination, his foot kicked something. Crouching down and feeling the ground, his hand found a flashlight. He held it up and examined it in the moonlight. It was Mac's flashlight! Flicking on the switch, Richie directed the bright cheery beam on the wall and the hole it surrounded. On the opposite side, Richie found a notched opening, wide enough to walk through and with an ancient looking stone staircase spiraling into the dark abyss.

Unable to see very far into the mist filled opening with the flashlight and certain in his gut that Mac was down there, Richie walked over to the opening and began to descend the steps. There was graffiti covering the walls of the well. Only it wasn't the kind of graffiti Richie was used to seeing. These drawings were far more ancient and obviously meant something more than a simple record of ancient hunts.

Halfway down, a sinister, indistinct chant echoed steadily in his ears. He continued to proceed cautiously downward until he heard what sounded like Duncan's groans and cries of pain. Quickening his pace and moving as quietly as he could, Richie raced for the bottom.

Stealthily setting his foot on the bottom landing Richie noticed a darkened doorway across the expansive room. Mac was here; he could feel it now. Before moving towards the door, something caused him to look back up through the well towards the sky. He choked back a cry. The moon. It filled the entire opening as if it were a lid blocking his only escape route. Taking a deep shuddering breath, Richie turned his attention back to the door and promptly rushed through it.

Stopping dead in his tracks, he took in the living nightmare. Duncan was sprawled out on a stone altar, unmoving and staring at the ceiling. Eerie blue candles cast unholy shadows on the heavily graffitied walls. The chanting had reached deafening levels, drowning out his own heavy breathing. It was the last of his awareness as the world went black.


End file.
